


Near

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, Light Angst, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 14:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13483857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis has made do with what he can.





	Near

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “For months Ignis has been going out and fucking a guy who looks exactly like the Prince of Insomnia, that plays the part well and wears almost identical outfit. He knows it isn't the *real* Noct but he will take what he can get. + bottom Iggy +++++++ Noct finding out and proving Ignis nothing is better than the real thing” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7608110#cmt7608110).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“You feel so good, Iggy,” the man purrs into his ear, voice _almost_ right, tone perfect. Even the nickname fits. But of course it would—Ignis offered that instruction. The man looks so very much like _Noctis_ , and he kisses Ignis just as intensely as he’d like. It thins his head enough to forget some of the differences. The hard cock inside him drives ever deeper, and Ignis lets himself be lost to that sensation, freely groaning a name that’s not his lover’s. 

He’s moaned, “ _Noct_ ,” so many times that it’s second nature now. The man smiles and kisses the side of his mouth, playing pleased. He plays it well. He came to Ignis in familiar black fatigues, let Ignis cook for him, pretended to be mellow and reserved like the whole city knows their prince to be, and then he opened up for Ignis alone. He murmured a thank you for the meal and tenderly kissed Ignis back towards the bedroom, laid Ignis down, and set into him with a sort of feral hunger that Ignis would like to think the _real_ prince would have.

His phone rings from the nightstand. It’s the third time that evening, and Ignis turns to look at it, blearily staring through the darkness of his bedroom. His visitor slips a warm palm against his cheek and gently turns him back, huskily reminding him: “I’m right here.” Ignis nods. It’s the only way to uphold the illusion. He can’t choose anything over Noctis, never could. It’s probably not the real one anyway. It’s the middle of the night, and for all the coordinating of the prince’s schedule that he does, his phone is always going off. He’s rewarded for his choice with another deep thrust and a fervent kiss. The fake Noctis even finds his way to Ignis’ thin wrists, pinning them down against the mattress. As the phone plays its little tune, faux-Noctis fucks him harder.

The phone stops ringing. Guilt swarms Ignis, like it always does, every time this happens. He knows he’ll check the phone as soon as they’re done. That doesn’t help. But he looks up, and in the almost total lack of light, the face before him could truly be _Noctis_ , and that’s enough to undo him. He comes first, as much from emotion as the physicality of sex, and the man kisses away his scream. 

He’s pounded into right through it. He makes a mess of their stomachs, and the man ignores it and keeps going. The man always gets to come. That’s how Ignis wants it. He’d never leave Noctis unsatisfied, no matter what it took. The man pounds away while Ignis spirals down and into tiredness, even into soreness, but still swathed in the fantasy.

There is no condom. The man’s regular checks are on Ignis’ bill. The man comes inside him like Noctis would, because Ignis would want that—his prince’s release raw inside of his body. The first time, he insisted otherwise. But then he quickly came to realize that there was no logic in saving himself for the real thing, because the real thing will never come, and he needs to complete the illusion to make it worth it. Whatever pleasure he receives, it has to be more than the self-loathing it fans inside him. 

The man finally finishes, sweaty and sticky, and kisses the corner of Ignis’ lips before pulling out and pushing up. Ignis winces but remains where is. It’s difficult to move afterwards. He feels drained. The man strokes his face once and murmurs, “Thanks, Iggy.” Ignis doesn’t know if the real Noctis would say that. It doesn’t matter. He knows he’s a relatively easy client, given what he pays, and he lets the man free-style the role. The money’s on the table. 

Ignis doesn’t look anymore as the man slowly dresses himself, back into dark boots, loose pants, a fitted tee and a sleeveless jacket, all embroidered like perfect cosplay. The man’s still straightening out his clothes when the doorbell rings from the other room. Ignis wants to ignore that too.

But he’s wasted enough of his night in a sinful fantasy, so he makes himself bend over and find his pants. He dons them quickly, throwing on his discarded shirt on the way out of the bedroom, with no time for anything else. He doesn’t bother to check the peephole before he unlatches the lock, just opens the door. 

A very real Noctis stands on the doorstep. Completely unaware of Ignis’ wretched truths, he asks, “Where the hell’ve you been? You didn’t answer your phone.” And Ignis _never_ misses Noctis’ calls. Except, of course, when his lover demands it. 

Ignis is shocked. Noctis is frowning. Ignis struggles for words and hopes it isn’t obvious what he’s just come from. He’s sure he reeks of sex. His hair’s probably a mess. He should’ve spared the extra few seconds it would’ve taken to put on his underwear. 

Somehow, he manages to reply, “I apologize. What can I do for you?”

Noctis opens his mouth, but before he can answer, his doppelganger is squeezing past them on his way out. Noctis’ clear eyes go wide, following the man’s quickly retreating form, and it’s probably too fast for him to see all the little details—how the man isn’t _truly_ right, just touched up with makeup—though it was too close for Ignis to resist the first time he encountered the man, too close now for him to leave.

An enormous pit drops into Ignis’ stomach, and he doesn’t know what to stay. Watching the man disappear into the elevator down the hall, Noctis asks, “What...?”

Ignis lies, “I can explain,” before he can stop himself. He isn’t given time to. Noctis whirls around and suddenly pushes past him, barging into the apartment. Ignis just closes the door again—Noctis is always welcome in his home. Noctis is his prince and technically _owns_ his home. But there’s so much he’d hide if he had time.

Noctis looks at the two wine glasses and the empty plates atop the coffee table. There’s a spare phone there, but the screen is thankfully blank, not revealing its sole purpose—King’s Knight. The fake Noctis doesn’t know how to play, but he pretends to. The real Noctis marches on, bee-lining for the bedroom. 

Ignis brokenly follows. Noctis flicks on the light and only takes a few steps inside. Everything is obvious. The covers are pulled back from the bed, a small stain in the center of the sheets. Ignis’ glasses are on the nightstand, his jacket, socks, and underwear scattered about the floor. When Noctis looks back, Ignis can’t meet his eyes.

He’s so ashamed of himself that he can hardly breathe. In his peripherals, Ignis can see Noctis clench his fists at his sides, and his voice is deathly cold when he asks, “You got a look-a-like of me to fuck?”

Ignis doesn’t clarify ‘to be fucked by.’ He says all he can: “I’m so sorry.”

Noctis presses, “Why?”

Ignis takes a deep breath. He knew what would have to happen if he was ever caught, and though he hoped it would never come to this, he knows he deserves it. It takes him a minute to steady himself enough to promise, “I... will resign immediately. I truly am sorry. Obviously, my feelings are completely inappropriate. And I... I tried for so long to deny them, I did, and when that proved impossible, I should have left. But I simply cared for you too much to bear never seeing you again, and when I happened to come across a man who was willing, and who looked so much like you...”

Noctis cuts in, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ignis winces. He would’ve thought that would be obvious. 

He still whispers, “I couldn’t stand the thought of you hating me.”

Noctis lurches abruptly back to life. He storms towards Ignis, and Ignis tells himself to stay where he is—if he’s knocked down, he deserve it. But he balks when Noctis’ fire comes close enough, and he backs up—Noctis keeps coming, steering him until he hits the wall, trapped in. He’s taller than Noctis, but in the moment, Noctis feels infinitely more imposing. He flattens into Ignis so close that they’re almost touching. He asks, a tad quieter, “Was he anything like me?”

Ignis’ mouth is dry. He manages to admit, “He did... an admirable job. But of course, it had to be somewhat... lacking...” He doesn’t get to finish. 

Noctis slams into him, face tilting so their noses slide against one another as their mouths slot together. It’s a harsh, determined kiss that leaves Ignis numb with shock. When Noctis pulls back, Ignis can still feel the pin-prickling and moisture on his lips. Noctis growls, “You should’ve come to me.” Confused, Ignis’ brows knit together. Noctis insists fiercely, almost petulantly, “The real thing is so much better.”

Ignis opens his mouth, meaning to ask what’s happening, but Noctis surges forward and kisses him again, this time full on. Noctis’ tongue thrusts right into his mouth, and he’s kissed harder, deeper, almost bruising in its force. Noctis’ entire body arches into his, touching _everywhere_ , Noctis’ arms coming up to brace against the wall, penning Ignis in. Ignis can barely keep up with his prince’s wild tongue. This time, when Noctis pulls away again, Ignis is left utterly breathless.

“You dummy,” Noctis mutters, eyes burning into Ignis’. “I’ve wanted you for _years_.” 

The corners of Ignis’ eyes sting. His chest quivers. He’s more overwhelmed from those few words than he’s ever been from sex. 

Noctis’ voice is hot and demanding when he orders, “Never see that guy again.” Ignis nods immediately, acquiescing without any fight. “And you’d better not resign. If anything, you’re going to be in my life twice as much from now on, because all that shit you did with _him_ , you’ll do with me instead, understand?” Ignis keeps nodding. He feels almost numb. It can’t be real. 

Noctis seems to hesitate. Then he grants Ignis a third kiss, but this one is deliberately softer, almost tender. Everything Ignis has ever wanted. All of it is. As their lips part, Noctis glances back towards the bed. 

The fire seems to have dwindled with Ignis’ submission. Almost tentative now, Noctis slowly takes Ignis’ hand. He looks at Ignis, their eyes connect, _so much_ passing through them.

Then Noctis takes Ignis towards the bed. And ready to collapse, Ignis follows.


End file.
